Intervention

24

9:23 P.M., SATURDAY, DECEMBER 6, 2008

NEW YORK CITY

Do you call this parked?” Jack questioned, standing on the curb with his hands on his hips and gazing at the more than two feet that separated James’s Range Rover from where he was standing.

“It was the best I could do,” James said. “Don’t give me a hard time! Just get in. I assure you I can get you home safely.”

Both men climbed into the SUV’s front seat. Jack made a point of fastening his seat belt. If James’s park job was as good as he could do, Jack was mildly concerned. “You haven’t had too much wine, have you?”

“As wired as I am, I don’t feel like I’ve had any.”

“I could drive,” Jack offered. “I had very little.”

“I’m fine,” James said as he maneuvered out of the tight space.

They drove in silence through the West Village, each digesting the dinner party’s edgy conversation.

“Shawn is impossible,” James said suddenly, while they waited for a traffic light before getting onto the West Side Highway. “Of course, he’s always been impossible.”

“He’s always been his own person,” Jack said.

James glanced in Jack’s direction, catching the man’s strong profile against the streetlights. “That’s rather limp support.”

Jack looked over at James, and their eyes caught for a moment before the light changed, and James had to drive ahead. “I’m sorry,” Jack said. “And I probably shouldn’t say anything at all for fear of making things worse for you. I can certainly tell how passionately you feel, but from my humble perspective, he does seem to have a point.”

“You’re on his side?” James demanded, with a mixture of surprise and dismay.

“No, I’m not on anyone’s side,” Jack said. “But last time he invited me to dinner, which I told you about, and we were alone, washing the dishes, we did speak briefly about you and your impressive successes with the Church hierarchy. That stimulated him to tell me a few things that I’d never known. By the time we all came in contact, in college, he was already a lapsed Catholic, but I had never known why.”

James cast another quick glance in Jack’s direction before returning his attention to the road. “Don’t tell me! He wasn’t molested himself, was he?”

“No, nothing as dramatic as that, but close.”

“This is new material,” James said. “What do you mean ‘close’?”

“Because I had no experience with religion growing up in an atheist household, I feel at a disadvantage telling his story, but I’ll give it a go. Apparently, as a very young teenager, he loved the Church, as did both his parents.”

“I’m aware of that,” James said.

“Then you know he and his parents were very active in their parish.”

“I’m aware of that as well.”

“Anyhow,” Jack said, “he reached puberty without much preparation, maybe none. As he tells it, it is rather humorous if nothing else. Apparently, he masturbated the first time by accident and utter surprise. He was in the shower, and he was washing his privates such that the cleaner they got, the better it felt, until he had an orgasm, which he described as divine pleasure. For obvious reasons, that episode ushered in a proclivity for taking showers, up to three a day, which made him feel closer to God and all the saints than he ever had previously.”

James found himself chuckling despite his general unease. He could clearly see Shawn telling such a story, as he was a gifted raconteur. A moment later he quieted, as he feared how the story was about to unfold.

“Apparently,” Jack continued, “it was several blissful weeks later that he came in contact with the teaching of the pope he mentioned tonight.”

“You mean Pope Gregory the Great?” James asked.

“I believe that’s the one,” Jack said. “Was he as negative about sex as Shawn suggested?”

“He was,” James admitted.

“Anyway,” Jack continued, “Shawn described the collision with the supposed antimasturbation dogma of the Church and his own sense of experiencing the divine as cataclysmic, especially learning that to receive the Eucharist he had to confess every episode of self-gratification and every unclean thought, such as fantasizing about Elaine Smith’s ass.”

“Was Elaine Smith’s ass something to admire?”

“According to Shawn and the number of times he had to confess he’d fantasized about giving it a good look.”

“I know this amusing anecdote has to be going somewhere bad, so let’s hear it.”

“Shawn said he struggled with this epic battle for as much as six months, trying to regain his chaste life so as to be in accordance with Church dogma. To do so required him to confess his transgressions week after week, such that to remember what he’d done when he got into the confessional, he began to keep a very accurate diary of his masturbation episodes, which had moved out of the shower because, as he said, his skin became too dry. As for his unclean thoughts, they had expanded to take in more parts of Elaine Smith’s supposedly enchanting anatomy.”

“You’re dragging this out,” James complained.

“Okay,” Jack agreed. “Sorry. As I said, this battle went on for months, with Shawn doing his best to remember everything he did and confess it each Friday in minute detail.”

“And?” James asked impatiently.

“Shawn began to notice that the two priests who normally heard confessions began to get progressively interested.”

“Good Lord, no!” James uttered.

“Don’t get upset,” Jack warned. “Nothing really happened, at least overtly.”

“Thank God!”

“But no matter how much detail Shawn offered in the confessional, it was never enough, and each week toward the end, he was asked more and more questions, such as even he, as a newly pubescent teenager, knew that something was wrong. The crowning moment for Shawn was when one of the priests offered, in the confessional, to meet with him privately to help him overcome this soul-endangering habit.”

“Did they ever meet?”

“Not according to Shawn. Instead it was at that point, to the consternation of his parents, that Shawn decided he and the Church would sever relations, supposedly on a temporary basis but which has been maintained until today.”

“That is an unfortunate happening,” James agreed. “It is a pity that he didn’t have more knowledgeable priests to help him at such a crucial juncture.”

“But isn’t that one of Shawn’s points? Celibate priests are probably not the best guides for children through the stresses of puberty, just as they are probably not the best guides for young adults starting families. Having children is always much more problematic than people imagine, even in the best of circumstances.” Jack couldn’t help but think about his own current situation.

“I cannot contest that, and it is an issue I will pray upon. But now I have to concentrate on the problem at hand.”

“You mean your hope of talking Shawn out of publishing his findings?”

“Exactly.”

“Here’s my sentiment. You are fighting an awfully steep uphill battle. Unless Shawn and his wife come up with definitive proof somehow that the bones cannot be the Blessed Virgin’s, he is going to publish that they are, even if he cannot prove it. You are not going to talk him out of it. Your switching your attack from talking about his hurting the Church in general to hurting you personally was clever, but even that didn’t sway him, especially after he got you to admit you didn’t believe yourself that it was inevitable you’d be punished for his errors.”

“Unfortunately, I think you are right,” James said with resignation. “I’m the last person who should be trying to talk him out of something he truly wants to do and has convinced himself he should do as if he’s on a mission from God. When I heard that, I knew I was surely barking up the wrong tree. Thank goodness it’s not as messianic as I’d feared when I first heard it.”

“Why do you think you are the last person who should be trying to influence him?” Jack questioned. “I think you are the perfect person. He knows you, trusts you, and you have probably the most clerical credibility of anyone in this country.”

“We’re too good friends,” James explained, as he exited from the West Side Highway at 96th Street. “I know he was quite besotted, but he still feels comfortable calling me lardo, which is what he used to call me in college when he was angry, which he knows I detest, probably because it is rather accurate. But such familiarity puts me at a distinct disadvantage.”

“If not you, who?” Jack asked. “I hope you’re not thinking of me, because I haven’t been any more successful than you’ve been. In fact, I’ve been completely unsuccessful. Especially compared with you two guys, I know nothing about the Catholic Church.”

“Where is it you live again?” James asked, after reassuring Jack he didn’t intend to saddle him with the problem of Shawn and Sana. Jack gave him the street and the number.

“So if not me, who?” Jack persisted.

“That’s the problem,” James said, approaching Jack’s home. “I haven’t the faintest idea, although I’m beginning to have an idea of the qualities I’d like the person to have.”

“Like what?”

“Persuasive, of course, but more important, absolutely and completely devoted to the Blessed Virgin. I mean a young person who has totally dedicated his or her life to the study and veneration of the Virgin Mary.”

“That’s an idea,” Jack said, suddenly sitting up. “A young attractive woman! Or we could find his old friend Elaine Smith, especially if she’d maintained her figure and had become a specialist in Mariology.”

“I know you are trying to buoy my spirits by being humorous, but I’m being serious here, my friend. I need to find immediately an incredibly persuasive zealot, tell him or her the story, and force Shawn to put up with him or her for a number of days. That is my last hope. I hadn’t thought of such a plan, because I was hoping not to have to tell anyone else the story to avoid anyone besides the four of us from knowing it. Obviously, I’ve decided it is a risk we have to take.”

James pulled over to the side of the road directly opposite the stoop on the front of Jack’s house. “Thanks for coming tonight. I really appreciate it. And thank your wife for letting you come, and tell her I’m looking forward to meeting her.”

After shaking hands, Jack put his hand on the door opener, then looked back at James. “How are you going to find this person you’ve described in time? I don’t think I’ve ever met a single person who comes close to fulfilling those narrow requirements.”

“Actually, I don’t think it will be too difficult. Christianity has never been without its share of fanatics and zealots. Luckily, the early bishops recognized these people and supported them, creating in the process the concept of monasticism, where people could go to commit themselves entirely to God, or later to the Virgin Mary. Monasticism thrived, and it still does. In my archdiocese alone there are probably a hundred or more, some of which the chancery doesn’t even know about, and some of which if we did, we would try to shut down. I’m going to start a rapid search of these institutions and find the perfect person.”

“Good luck!” Jack said, climbing down from the Range Rover’s cab and shutting the door behind him. Then he stood there in the street for a few minutes, waving and watching James’s taillights until they reached Columbus Avenue and turned left. Heading up his front steps by twos, Jack was invigorated. He felt like he was a participant in a kind of unfolding real-life mystery-thriller, the denouement of which taxed his creativity to even imagine how it was going to play out. The only thing he sensed was that Shawn was not going to back down easily.

James felt better than he had all day, and specifically better than he had all evening. Plan B had evolved out of nowhere, and he gently chided himself for not thinking of it earlier. As the early monks had helped stabilize the early Church, particularly after Constantine had legalized Christianity and let in the masses, the monks of today would come to the Church’s aid. Somehow James was sure of it, and sure that he would find the individual who could do it.

Consciously suppressing his urge to drive too quickly in order to get to the residence, where he intended to begin plan B that very evening, James drove down Central Park West to Columbus Circle. From there he used Central Park South to cross to the East Side and drop off his vehicle at his garage. Then he walked quickly home to the residence, deliberately trying to be noisy when he entered the front door.

It soon became obvious that he’d not been noisy enough, as neither Father Maloney nor Father Karlin appeared. Assuming they were already settled for the night in their small gabled rooms on the fourth floor, James climbed into the residence’s small elevator, which he rarely used, and was whisked up to the top floor. Climbing out of the car on the tiny upper hallway, James banged mercilessly on the two doors, calling out that he wanted to see both secretaries in his office ASAP.

With the surprising announcement made and without waiting for a response, James returned into the elevator and descended two floors. Once in his office, he turned on the lights and then settled back behind his desk to await the surprised secretaries. Never before had James disturbed them once they’d retired for the day.

Father Maloney was the first to arrive. He’d merely pulled on his plaid robe over pajamas and to James resembled a scarecrow because of his height, the thinness of his body, and the gauntness of his face. Even his cropped short red hair sticking out in spikes added to the impression, as it looked something like straw.

“Where’s Father Karlin?” James demanded, without giving any explanation for such an unprecedented late-night meeting.

“He called out to me through his closed door he’d be here as soon as he could manage...” Father Maloney said. His voice trailed off, as he was hoping for an explanation of what was on the archbishop’s mind, but nothing was forthcoming.

James impatiently drummed his fingers on his desk. Just when he was about to pick up his phone and call Father Karlin’s room, the man walked into the office. In contrast to Father Maloney, he’d assumed the worst — namely, that he’d be up for hours — and had taken the time to fully dress, artificial white clerical collar and all.

“Sorry to interrupt your prayers,” James said to begin. He motioned for his two secretaries to sit. Tenting his fingers, he added, “We have what I consider to be an emergency. I’m not going to tell you exactly why, but you two have to find me immediately a person who is charismatic and persuasive and generally alluring in some manner. But most of all, he or she must be fanatically passionate and zealous about the Blessed Virgin Mary, the more the better, and totally committed to the Church with a sense of mission.”

The two priests glanced at each other, each hoping the other understood the assignment and how to proceed better than the other. As the senior secretary, Father Maloney spoke: “Where would we find such a person?”

In his excitement, James had little patience for what he interpreted as negativity on his secretaries’ part. He rolled his eyes at Father Maloney’s ridiculous question. “I ask you,” James said with uncamouflaged frustration, “where ultra-devoted followers of Mary, the Mother of God, might be found?”

“I suppose as members of Roman Catholic Marian movements and societies.”

“Very good, Father Maloney,” James said with a touch of sarcasm, acting as if he was teaching a Sunday-morning catechism class to preteens. “Starting at the crack of dawn, I want you to begin calling such institutions and talk to their abbots, mother superiors, or bishops, to let them know that I have called this an archdiocesan emergency to find the right person. Let them know it is a serious affair, as this individual will for a week or so work directly under me on a mission of high importance concerning the Blessed Virgin and the Church in general. And make it clear that this is not an award for someone’s past labors. It is for the here and now. I’m not looking for an old, distinguished Marian scholar. Actually, I’m looking for a young person filled with youthful zealousness who is mystically capable of expressing his or her zeal to others. Do I have full understanding here?”

Both Father Maloney and Father Karlin quickly nodded. They had never seen their usually in-control boss quite so fervid.

“Now, I would participate myself, but I have Mass to celebrate in the morning with a sermon, which I have yet to outline. I need to trust that you two will not fail me. When I return here to the residence around noon, I want there to be at least one and hopefully several candidates for me to interview. How you get them here, I do not care, nor is cost an issue. As the weather is supposed to be good, a helicopter might be necessary. Again I ask, are both of you on the same page here, or what?”

“You have not told us what this person will be actually doing,” Father Maloney said, “and you have specifically said that you would not. But I can see that question coming up from the abbots, mother superiors, and bishops. What should we answer?”

“Answer that it is my judgment that no one, except of course the individual selected, should know the problem the archdiocese is facing.”

“Very good,” Father Maloney said as he got to his feet and clasped his robe more tightly about his bony slenderness. Father Karlin stood as well.

“That will be all,” James said. “And I pray you will be successful.”

“Thank you, Your Eminence,” Father Maloney said, bowing slighting at the waist before following Father Karlin by backing out the door.

As the two priests climbed the flight of stairs from the second floor to the third, Father Karlin, who was in the lead, called down to Father Maloney, who was just starting up, “This might be the strangest task I’ve been charged with since my arrival here five years ago.”

“I guess I’d have to agree,” Father Maloney said.

At the base of the stair run up to the fourth floor, Father Karlin hesitated and waited for his colleague. “How are we going to get the phone numbers of these Marian societies?”

“There are plenty of ways,” Father Maloney said, “especially now, with the Internet. Besides, it was clear that the cardinal wants a particularly extreme individual. For that we go to the most radical organization. Maybe, if we’re lucky, one call may do the trick.”

“Are you aware of the most fanatical organization?”

“I believe I am,” Father Maloney said. “A friend of my family contacted me several years ago to try to get their child out of an organization called the Brotherhood of the Slaves of Mary. I had never heard of it, and it’s not that far away, literally up in the Catskill Mountains, although figuratively it’s on another planet. Apparently, it’s a modern revival of a seventeenth-century fanatical European Marian society, which the then Pope Clement the Tenth felt compelled to outlaw some of the practices of.”

“Good grief,” Father Karlin voiced. “What kind of practices?”

“Using chains and other enslavement instruments for penance for mankind’s sins.”

“Dear God,” Father Karlin added. “Did you manage to get the child out?”

“I didn’t. Multiple phone calls and even a visit were for naught. He apparently loved the place, as it was what he needed. I don’t know if he’s still there or not. I haven’t been in contact with the family, as they were disappointed in my efforts.”

“Do you still have the contact numbers?”

“I do. I’ll call first thing. Of course, if the cardinal knew the society existed and he visited it, he’d probably close it down.”

“That is an irony, especially if we find someone there who fulfills the cardinal’s needs.”